


Musical Chairs

by fedaykin



Category: Crash Pad (2017), Logan Lucky (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: But no one actually plays musical chairs, Chairs were harmed in the making of this fic, Hurt/Comfort, Improper Climbing Technique, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Drugs, There are Musicals, There is a chair, Who knows what else Stensland would break, kylux adjacent, which is probably for the best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23735905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fedaykin/pseuds/fedaykin
Summary: Prompt from Sasa_dangon: Clydeland? Maybe Stens comforting Clyde after a mild PTSD moment?---Stensland is going to help Clyde, his Beefcake Beau, relax after a stressful week, even if he has to climb to the summit of Mt. Bookcase to find the musical prize...OR Stensland has good intentions but it may have caused more trouble instead.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren, Clyde Logan/Stensland (Crash Pad)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 41
Collections: Into the Adjacentverse: Kylux Adjacents Month 2020





	Musical Chairs

It was Clyde’s favorite movie and he would get it down, no force other than the Almighty was going to stop him. Although Stensland would have at least waited to hear what the Lord needed to say, it was only polite. 

But he was getting ahead of himself. 

Clyde liked to read. An entire wall in the house was dedicated to planks and cinder blocks and the ragtag collection of books on them. Some were held together with scotch tape and others were so new that the spine snapped when you opened them, but Clyde had sat in his old recliner and at least thumbed through them all. 

Now, Stensland had only owned three types of books. The first type were magazines and phone books. Some might argue that those did not count as actual books, but it was called a phone BOOK, not a phone PAPER RECTANGLE. Either way, they made wonderful furniture. 

Perhaps not as aesthetically pleasing as most, but they were free. Need a side table for the futon? A stack of phone books from the dumpster. Need a tv stand? Nobody wanted their weekly ad magazine from the city. Plus they were easy to clean - any spill and you just rip a few pages off. Stensland knew that after a hard day of work, he could rest his bong next to ALLCOCK, GREGORY J of 7854 Maple Street, 555-772-8134, and feel his stress float away. 

By now, all those memories were likely incinerated or pulped or both at a recycling facility, Clyde insisted, it was cruel to dump a sequoia’s worth of paper in the dumpster. Stensland’s heart swelled for his burly lumberjack boyfriend. 

His second type of books were those he knew would impress the ladies. He still vaguely recalled the ones he’d read in school, so those needed to be placed in plain sight so any guests would know that he was a man of sophistication. _The Catcher in the Rye_ sat next to _Fight Club_ because he knew those had something to do with each other. He hadn’t understood the few chapters he’d read, but _The DaVinci Code_ definitely showed that Stensland had a brooding intelligence. _The Twilight Saga_ showed that he was a brooding romantic. (And they really were lovely books.) But the real way to seal the deal was _Fifty Shades_ tucked behind a throw pillow for an ‘accidental’ discovery. 

Stensland dropped those off with Mr. Laframboise on his way out of Seattle forever. He was a committed man now, he didn’t need those vile paper temptresses any longer, lest some unfortunate guest stumble into his spell, and he was done breaking hearts! He was off the market for good! 

The third type was fresh and incredibly classy. If Soft Solutions had a list of expert advice, the fourth bullet would say to keep things aesthetically pleasing. Everything should have a Feng Shui with each other. The Fall 2018 Madison loveseat in Burnt Umber paired well with decor in Olive Paradise. And Soft Solutions just happened to have a ceramic vase and a vintage hardcover book in that exact shade. 

Stensland had no idea what the book actually said, it was written in some sort of code, but the store had hundreds of them for all the furniture display areas. The Regional Manager had been confused but allowed Stensland to take a few dozen home. 

A long weekend with his favorite Chiba and Stensland had arranged his new books all around the house and a spot on the shelf in perfect rainbow hue order. Of course, they didn’t stay that way for long. Clyde had curiously opened a few, trying to see if he could understand any of it, but had to put them away, saying that it gave him a headache after a while. Stensland agreed. The books were pretty on the outside, but far too angry on the inside with all the capital and backwards letters. 

He was off topic again. 

His entire _Dawson’s Creek_ VHS collection was on the fourth shelf, perfectly at eye level and enchantingly beautiful with its neon-colored labels, the electric blue of Season One to the lime green of Season Six. Gorgeous, inspiring, and useless. 

They didn’t have a VHS player at the house. They didn’t have a DVD or blue disco light ray player either. What they had was the internet and a streaming stick. 

The largest collection of films known to mankind and yet it just wasn’t the same. Stensland wanted to see the old commercials and adjust the tracking and watch the grainy faces of Dawson and Joey dance around each other. 

But the point was that without the crucial video players, Clyde’s collection of VHSs had migrated to the top right corner of the shelves, covered in dust and cobwebs and the titles completely illegible. 

And today at work, their old VHS/DVD combo player in the break room had been replaced. Score one for Stensland! 

It didn’t play DVDs, but they didn’t have many of those anyway. What they had was Dawson’s Creek and ninety-something VHSs that Clyde’s parents had used to record movies on TV, plus a few dozen from the bargain bin when the local video store closed. 

Now, it took a few months and a Girl’s Night Out or two with Mellie (that Stensland could only vaguely remember) before he had enough dirt on Clyde to blackmail him into admitting all his secrets. The most important being what was Clyde’s favorite movie. 

Every time Stensland asked, Clyde would shrug it off. When Stensland asked what kind of movie he wanted to watch, he said he didn’t mind. Highly suspicious. How could this be a real relationship if they didn't know each other's favorite movie or favorite candy bar or how they lost their virginity? How could they ever feel comfortable enough to fart in bed? 

And that’s how Stensland discovered that Clyde’s favorite movies were musicals. 

But not just any musicals… The big musical and dance number movies from the 1950s. Gene Kelly! Vera-Ellen! Fred Astaire! Danny Kaye! Ginger Rogers! 

Hundreds of classics! And yet, Clyde’s favorite movie was _Seven Brides for Seven Brothers_. Maybe he had something for burly mountain men and their small-but-takes-no-crap spouses. 

And Stensland was going to get it down and they were going to watch it with Clyde’s favorite comfort food (mac and cheese with hotdogs) because Clyde had been stressed out at work and he deserved the world. 

Now, they didn’t really have a small ladder for inside the house... one of those foldable ones. The shortest was a six-foot ladder in the garage and it probably weighed around 500 pounds and Stensland couldn’t be faulted for not being able to lift it. Only his giant mountain of a man could lift that thing in one arm and maneuver it through the house without gouging a hole in the wall or busting out a window. Stensland had already broken two windows and he wasn’t about to strike out. 

(Stensland did not count the holes in the wall. It was a natural occurrence, drywall was incredibly flimsy, it’s science, it’s not his fault he had sharp elbows, sharp belongings, and whatnot) 

And so, he would have to do this like a true American Ninja Warrior. 

Simple. 

Stensland pushed his beloved wingback chair back a foot or so to make it flush with the bookcase. This chair was made of the finest Amish wood from the best Amish trees. Sturdy enough to last generations and draped in a faded red velvet. The nice seller at the flea market was quite the expert - even gave him a discount. Only paying $350? It was a total steal! 

He stepped onto the seat, his bare feet sinking into the plush, when he heard a quiet crack. 

It was probably nothing. 

Stensland lightly bounced on the seat and nothing happened. 

Yep. Definitely fine. 

Yet, for all his height, this still wasn’t enough. Even on his tippity tippy toes. 

Stensland grabbed a shelf and it disrupted the dust clinging to every surface. He needed to clean! He wiped a little at the wood and a grey cloud rose in the air. 

It was in his nose! He scrunched his face until it looked like he had five chins. He could hold it in, he wou—

**_Ah-CHOOOO!_ **

Stensland closed his eyes and coughed as dust flew everywhere. 

“Bless you!” Clyde called from the bedroom. “You alright?” 

“Fine! Fine! Just some... allergies,” Stensland replied. He needed to hurry up! 

He lifted his leg to place a knee on the top of the chair, pulling himself up with the shelves. Almost there. 

He lifted his other leg, he could balance on his knees across the wings. 

_crack — Crack!_

It was okay. Just the fine Amish craftsmanship spreading his weight evenly. More science. 

Stensland straightened his back and felt his hair touch the ceiling. He wasn’t afraid of heights, but… 

Aha! The movie was right there, covered in dust but eager for love! And while he was up there, he may as well grab five more. 

However, VHS tapes were a lot thicker than he remembered. Plastic edges cut into his side as he shoved the tower under his arm. 

Not to worry! Getting down was the easy part. He used his free hand to grip the nearest shelf and slowly eased one knee back down—

_**SNAP!** _

Like the coyote, Stensland felt a moment of weightlessness, a moment for his brain to stop and look around and think ‘Uh-oh’. 

Then time started again and everything happened at once. 

  1. The frame of the chair snapped in three places.
  2. The VHSs fell from under his arm.
  3. He dug his fingernails into the wooden shelf in an attempt to save himself. 
  4. His (now unburdened) hand tried to grab the top of the chair.
  5. Instead, he punched a cinderblock.
  6. The top on the chair had pressed into the bookcase, dislodging trinkets and picture frames. 



And then all of that hit the ground, hard enough to rattle the windows and echo in the crawlspace under the house. 

Stensland blinked slowly at the ceiling. Everything happens so much, he thought. 

The bright white of shock faded away and he could feel himself again. Nothing broken, just banged around with his breath knocked out. 

He saw the rubble around him, broken wood and glass and stuffing, sprinkled with black cassettes and books, himself the little red cherry on top. 

“Stens!” Strong arms lifted his head and shoulders into a soft lap. “Oh my God, Stens?”

“I’m alright, just shook up a bit.” Stensland wheezed, the embarrassment creeping up his throat like a nasty night out. He’d made a colossal mess when he was supposed to be helping. Typical Stensland, he thought glumly. 

“A-Are you sure?” Clyde asked, his voice cracking uncharacteristically. His eyes wandered all over Stensland’s body like he was checking if all the pieces were still there. “I’ll— I’ll call 911.” 

Stensland tried to give a reassuring smile. “Oh jeezus, I’m fine. Just being the natural disaster that I am,” he said with a mock salute. Grunting, he hauled himself up into sitting, a VHS falling from his stomach to the floor. 

It really was a disaster. 

The chair was definitely ruined and he’d somehow knocked an entire section of books to the floor as well. He was such an idiot and he could only hope Clyde wouldn’t be too disappointed. 

He turned to face his beau when his fingers throbbed. Stensland frowned at his hand, sighing. “Ugh, I broke a nail…” 

And Clyde was awfully quiet. Stensland had wrecked the living room and Clyde would obviously be upset \- he’d even broken that picture frame with the adorable picture of Clyde fishing when he was eight! 

Stensland reached out and grabbed Clyde’s hand before looking up. “I’m really sorry.” 

Clyde didn’t even look up. He was practically shaking. Stensland was fine and, yes, they needed to clean up, but it wasn’t worth all this. Clyde’s hand was a fist with white knuckles. 

“Honey?” Stensland said. Clyde stayed shaking and staring. Stensland gently grabbed Clyde’s cheeks and lifted his head up, brushing the hair from his face. 

Clyde was just staring off into space, looking five seconds from crying, a cold sweat on his forehead. 

“Hey?” Stensland said, moving his face around until Clyde finally locked eyes with him. He stroked Clyde’s cheeks with his thumbs. “It’s okay, I’m in one piece, the house not so much, but…,” Stensland repeated, smiling a little bigger. 

Clyde took a deep shaky breath. His hands rose to hold on to Stensland’s wrists. One hand was cold and clammy, the other was just cold. 

It hit him as hard as he hit the ground earlier. 

Stensland didn’t know for sure, they never really talked about it… but if he was in one piece, Clyde still wasn’t. 

He didn’t know much about Clyde’s time overseas. He mostly just said it was really hot and he had to carry a hundred pounds around all day. But nothing about how long he’d been there. Or what he did or saw. He was just very matter-of-fact about it, deflecting questions with the obvious answers. 

What happened to his hand? Roadside bomb as he was shipping out. Bad luck, the Logan curse. Nothing more than that. The same script he had told hundreds of curious people who saw his arm first instead of a person. 

But Clyde had occasional nightmares. And he did take a pill when he was stressed. And he would rub his arm in quiet moments... sometimes it would be red-looking when he took his prosthetic off after a long shift at work. 

So, if he added all this stuff up, plus the things he’d seen in movies and TV, then… 

“Um, did my fall make you…?” Stensland wasn’t sure how to end his question. Was there a good word for this? “Did it make you… startled?”

Clyde silently nodded and one tear escaped down his cheek. 

Stensland watched the trail start to dry and felt a bit lost. It wasn’t even a real tear, it was like Clyde’s body was reacting to something but Clyde, himself, was locked inside his own head.

Stensland had no idea how to get him out. 

“Do you need your medicine?” That seemed like a reasonable solution.

Clyde’s hands tightened on Stensland’s wrists and he shook his head.

Okay. “Do you want me to call Jimmy? Or Mellie?”

Clyde shook his head again. 

Stensland frowned. What did he do when he was freaked out? 

Weed, couch, Dawson.

That wouldn’t quite work with Clyde. 

“Can we sit on the couch?”

Clyde nodded. 

It hurt to get up, he was slow and he groaned the whole time. Clyde seemed to struggle as well, like all those magnificent muscles had decided to go on lunch break. 

Together they shuffled like crotchety old men to the couch and fell into the cushions. 

Clyde wasn’t shaking as much but he still seemed to be on another planet.

Stensland threw his aching legs over Clyde’s lap and clung to his broad shoulders. “Honey?” 

Clyde pressed his forehead against Stensland’s. Good enough.

“So, I don’t really know what to do or say… it would just be a bunch of clichés, you know? ‘It’s all in the past!’ or ‘Just calm down!’... and you don’t seem to want to talk about it, and I’ll totally listen if you ever want to! But right now, I’m just sorry and I’m okay and… you’re okay, too. We’re here... together.” 

Clyde took a shuddering breath and slowly let it out. 

Maybe distraction would help.

“Today at work, they delivered a new Dee-Vee-Dee player, so we can watch those company seminars and get style suggestions? And so Frank was going to toss the old one! Now, this old one doesn’t play Dee-Vee-Dees because James dared Steven to put that piece of provolone in it? It smelled like burnt nacho cheese in there for a week afterwards. It reminded me of the county fair when I was nine and I was sick all over the tilt-a-whirl. Afterwards, they had to shut that ride down for the rest of the week. But it does still play VHSs! So I brought this magnificent piece of ancient technology home!” Stensland gestured at the black box he’d hooked up. “I can watch the drama of blossoming love at Capeside High and you can watch your favorite musicals again.” 

Stensland watched Clyde for a moment. He seemed to be slowly loosening. 

“I thought we could watch your favorite tonight? _Seven Brides for Seven Brothers_ , right? I still haven’t seen it. And I was going to make some mac and cheese. With the burnt crunchy part on top that you like so much? And some hot dogs? Does that sound good?” 

Clyde gave a tiny nod and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Sweet West Virginian Mountain Mama, Clyde was beautiful. Stensland kissed those lips, it was criminal not to.

“Can I put the movie in now?” Stensland whispered. “We can have mac and cheese in a little while.”

“Sounds perfect,” Clyde said, his voice a soft croak.

“You’re perfect,” Stensland said faster than he could think. 

Clyde chuckled.

So, Stensland gave him another peck on the lips.

And groaned as he climbed off Clyde’s lap. Tomorrow he’d feel like he’d been hit by a truck. But Clyde would be there to help him. Give him massages. Maybe some unorthodox physical therapy. 

And there was the explosion across the floor again. 

He’d find that tape.

Using some books as stepping stones, he inched closer to the shelves… and nestled in the carcass of his antique chair was the movie. He frowned and picked it up.

His poor chair, though. 

Torn red velvet and splintered cardboard and particle board and its laminate covering...

Wait.

Stensland grabbed a piece of his ‘Amish Wood’ and peeled the laminate sticker off. The printed wood grain paper crinkled as he closed his fist.

“ _That son of a BITCH!_ ” 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> \----------  
> Writing Stensland is an absolute delight, okay? 
> 
> I'm writing stuff for people who donate to those in need during this pandemic - find the details on my twit: [FedaykinBree](www.twitter.com/fedaykinbree)


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